


Snap, Crackle, and Pop

by noxlee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-28 17:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15054350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noxlee/pseuds/noxlee
Summary: Dean and Castiel have been best friends for as long as either of them can remember, so it’s only natural that Cas stay with Dean after the fire in his apartment building. Half of Cas’s things are already at Dean’s place, and he spends all his time there anyway. He may as well sleep there too.It will be just like the sleepovers they had when they were kids… except for when it’s not.





	Snap, Crackle, and Pop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pimento](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/gifts).



> Written for pimentogirl for the profound bond gift exchange. I'm given to understand that you like ferrets, which I sincerely hope is the case, otherwise this is going to get awkward real fast...

 

Dean’s at the Roadhouse when he gets the call, waiting for Cas to join him for their usual burger and beer. Typically Cas beats him here, orders for them, and has stolen the pickles from Dean’s burger by the time Dean arrives. But Dean enters the Roadhouse to find their table empty, which should have been his first sign that something was wrong.

When his brother Sam calls with the news that a fire has broken out in Castiel’s building, Dean drops everything and runs. He tries calling Cas from his car, and his panic escalates with each passing moment that he doesn’t pick up.

The scene is grim when he finally arrives. Dark smoke billows from the side of the building with bright flames licking at the edges. There are swarms of people, sirens everywhere, and mutterings that some people haven’t made it out. Dean shouts himself hoarse looking for Cas in the crowd.

He finds him sitting on the back bumper of an ambulance— slumped, and head down, but Dean would have recognized that mess of dark hair anywhere.

When he gets closer, Dean sees that Cas is trembling slightly and curled in on himself, making his usually large frame seem much smaller. His blue eyes are vacant and searching for a moment before they settle on Dean’s and widen in surprise.

“Dean?” Cas looks around in bewilderment. “I think... I’m going to be late for dinner.”

Dean emits a noise that lands somewhere between a laugh and a sob and pulls Cas into a tight hug. He burrows his face in Cas’s hair and finds himself unwittingly murmuring over and over again, “I’ve got you, Cas. You’re okay. I’ve got you,” the reassurance more for himself than for Cas.

Cas grunts and squirms out of Dean’s hold, and Dean’s immediate relief is replaced with fury when the paramedic trying to give Cas oxygen announces with no small amount of irritation that Cas had been one of the last to evacuate, having stayed behind to help trapped animals out of the building.

“What the fuck?” Dean shoves hard at Cas’s shoulder.

Cas scowls and wraps his arms protectively around the gym bag in his lap. “Careful! You’ll hurt Pimmy.”

“The rat?” Dean stares down at the bag in disbelief. “You stayed in a burning building for your rat?”

“She’s a ferret, Dean, as you well know. And I couldn’t just leave her there.”

Cas has always been besotted with his stupid pet ferret, which Dean maintains is really just a longer, smellier rat. But Cas and the ferret are a package deal so Dean insists they both come stay with him. Cas is reluctant at first, not wanting to impose. Dean snorts, indignant and deeply offended at the idea that Cas could ever think of himself as an imposition, until they finally hit on the crux of Cas’s hesitation.

“Your couch is basically a torture device,” Cas says. “It’s too short for me to stretch out on fully, and the springs dig into my back. I’m just not as young as I used to be, and I can’t sleep there for weeks on end. My back won’t survive it. It could be _months _before my place is ready again.”__

“Fine, I’ll buy another couch,” Dean relents. “In the meantime, my bed is huge.”

Cas squints up at him and Dean shrugs. “Come on. Get your rodent and let’s go home. It’ll be just like the sleepovers we had when we were kids.”

\-----

It’s not, in fact, like the sleepovers they had when they were kids.

For one thing, Cas used to practically swim in the t-shirts Dean lent him. But all of Dean’s band shirts now pull snugly across Cas’s chest, straining at the arms. Dean can’t stop staring, trying to decide if it’s worth it for him to take up running and weight training as well.

It’s not, he decides.

The couch Dean bought—that Cas picked out—isn’t due to be delivered for another week, so Cas takes Dean up on his offer to share the bed the first night.

When they were kids, they slept in the same room all the time. In the summer, they would put up a tent in the backyard and share an air mattress, but Dean realizes belatedly that they’re a good deal larger now than they were when they were kids, and sharing a bed isn’t quite as comfortable as it once was. Nor is Dean’s bed as big as he’d imagined.

They talk like they used to though, before nodding off. About work and the weather, and about the fire. And then, about the other fire that wasn’t as forgiving and took Dean’s mother all those years ago.

It’s fine, really. No big deal. Just two friends sharing a bed. Eventually Cas curls towards the wall on his side of the mattress and is courteous about not pulling the blankets with him. Dean lays on his back, staring aimlessly up at the ceiling and listening to Cas’s breathing even out. The cadence of it is soothing, and he closes his eyes and lays perfectly still. But apparently not still enough, because after awhile Cas huffs, still facing the wall.

“Go to sleep, Dean.”

And he tries, he really does. But he lays there, long into the night, always listening carefully for the sound of Cas’s breathing and glancing over every so often to see his shoulders rise and fall with each breath. In and out. In and out.

Cas is alive. He’s safe. Everything’s fine.

\-----

The next morning Dean wakes with a start to find the bed empty. He shuffles sleepily into his living room, lured by the smell of coffee, and stops short at the scene before him.

Cas is sitting cross-legged on the old couch in the AC/DC shirt Dean lent him to sleep in, his hair wildly askew on one side, and munching steadily on a large bowl of cereal. His eyes are glued to the TV. The volume is turned down, but light flickers across Cas’s features, casting his profile into sharp relief. A mug of coffee sits on the table next to him proclaiming, _my patronus is a penguin_. Dean thought it was far too cutesy, but Cas loved it and ordered it special online.

Somehow the mug had remained in Dean's kitchen cupboards, in its own spot, only used whenever Cas was over.

Dean freezes in the doorway, unable to move when Cas glances up at him and smiles. It’s a smile Dean’s seen a million times before, but today it seems to change Cas’s face, lighting him up from within. Dean finds himself unable to move and hardly daring to breathe as the day before comes flooding back to him, and with it the reminder of how close he came to losing Cas.

"Hello, Dean. Saturday morning cartoons!" Cas motions to the TV with his bowl. "Just like sleepovers when we were kids. I ate the honey nut cheerios, but saved you the rest of the fruit loops. There are rice krispies too."

Something inside of him snaps, and just like that, Dean is struck with the sudden, painful realization of several things in quick succession.

One: more than anything in the world, Dean wants to wake up every morning for the rest of his life and eat cereal on the couch with Cas. This is followed closely by realization number two: Dean is completely, irrevocably, and hopelessly in love with his best friend. And three: he’s utterly fucked beyond belief, because there’s no way in hell he could ever tell Cas any of this.

Staggering with the weight of this newfound awareness, Dean remains quiet through breakfast. He eats his fruit loops solemnly, listening to Cas lament the downward trend of quality cartoon programming since the ones that aired when they were kids. They re-fill their bowls a few more times until sunlight pours into the room, spilling together with Cas’s laughter and the sugary sweetness of the milk.

Dean looks down at Cas’s hand on the couch between them, his long tan fingers splayed wide, making each knuckle stand out. Dean knows these hands. They have high-fived him, and wrestled with him, and held him when his mother died. When these hands were smaller, they caught frogs and lizards and ladybugs— held them carefully before releasing them safely back into the world. There’s the faint outline of a scar on the back of this particular hand from when Cas was thirteen and burnt himself trying to bake cookies.

Dean doesn’t want to high-five that hand anymore. He wants to hold it. Wants to kiss each knuckle. Wants to slot his own fingers between Cas’s long ones, weave them together, and never let go.

\-----

The new couch arrives the following week, and Cas starts sleeping in the living room.

Coincidentally, Dean starts having nightmares.

He used to have the same one all the time: his mom, trapped in the fire that killed her. Now, it’s Cas he dreams of trapped in the flames, screaming for Dean who’s unable to reach him. Every time he closes his eyes, Dean sees black smoke and tosses fitfully in and out of sleep each night. Sometimes, when it’s really bad, he’ll sneak out of his room, tiptoe down the hall, and peek in on Cas sprawled out on the couch. It’s stupid, he knows, and maybe even a little creepy. But he misses having Cas next to him, and being able to glance over for reassurance in the night that Cas is okay.

He misses how the soft sounds of Cas sleeping next to him used to drown out the crackle of flames in his mind.

\-----

Daytime isn’t a whole lot better for Dean.

Cas is everywhere.

And as wonderful as that is, it’s also a special kind of hell for Dean who’s now hyper aware of everything that is Cas— from the way his mouth wraps tantalizingly around his spoon when he eats his cereal, to the way he hums out of tune to himself in the bathroom each morning. Every casual brush of their bodies together is electric; like when Cas squeezes past him in the kitchen, his chest brushing up against Dean’s back and his breath hot on Dean’s neck. Or when Cas nearly pees himself laughing at the TV and collapses against Dean’s side in a fit of giggles. Dean tries to find reasons not to love him, but even Cas’s annoying habits are endearing to him, and he finds that he rather likes finding half drunk mugs of cold tea in odd places around the apartment. It’s little reminders of Cas throughout the day that never fail to make him stop and smile.

Dean thinks about confessing to Cas. He thinks of all the various grand, elaborate gestures he could make. But what if Cas says no? Cas could reject him outright, and Dean isn’t sure his heart could survive that. And then where would they be? Awkward and uncomfortable, no doubt. Cas would probably distance himself, and Dean would be too embarrassed to protest, until they grew apart so much that they just slipped out of each other’s lives altogether.

Of course, Cas could say yes. He might be willing to give it a try. And then everything— _everything_ —would change. They’d probably stop hanging out at the Roadhouse and start doing couples things. And Dean would inevitably fuck it up, because he doesn’t know how to _do_ couples things. And when they broke up, Cas would leave, and Dean can’t bear the thought of seeing Cas walk out of his life for good.

It’s far better that they just remain friends, and better still that Dean keeps his big mouth shut.

He’s good at that part— keeping his mouth shut and locking it all up inside. His secret to holding it in is to let it out in small, private moments so as not to burst with the force of it all and accidentally spill his sloppy heart out all over Cas at inopportune times.

He confesses to the slime stain in his shower every morning. “I love him,” Dean whispers, the words drowned beneath the heavy sound of water.

“I would do anything for him,” he confides to his car when he’s driving alone.

He’s even begun talking to the ferret when Cas is at work, and that’s where he finds himself one fateful day, peering in the cage at soft brown eyes that gaze back up at him in earnest. She cocks her head to the side in an unmistakably Cas-like gesture that tugs at Dean’s heart.

“I know you think I hate you, Pimmy. Because I call you a stinky, overgrown, oddly shaped rat.” She blinks up at him, and he sighs. “I don’t though, okay? I couldn’t hate anything that he cares so much about. And don’t tell him I said this,” he whispers conspiratorially, “but you’re actually kind of cute.”

Pimmy makes a soft, clucking noise, and Dean’s heart melts just a little bit more.

“He’s too kind and soft-hearted for his own good, you know?” The ferret doesn’t answer him, of course, but Dean continues, feeling somewhat ridiculous but also relieved to spill his secrets to another sentient creature. “I can’t stop thinking about him. His stupid messy hair, and his blue eyes that make you just want to drown in them. And his stupid, perfect, kissable lips. God, Pimmy, I love him so much.” He lets out bitter, humorless laugh. “I’m going insane here. It’s unbearable, it’s—”

Dean stops suddenly at the sound of rustling behind him and whirls around to find Cas standing slack-jawed in the doorway. Pimmy dances excitedly in her cage at the sight of him.

“Forgot my keys,” Cas says, deadpan as ever. He stares at Dean, unmoving, and for the first time in his life Dean can’t tell what Cas is thinking. He hasn’t seen this expression before.

“I uh,” Dean stammers. “I don’t know what you heard, but—”

“I heard everything,” Cas says. “How long?”

Dean opens his mouth, considers feigning ignorance, then closes it again. He looks around the room, up at the ceiling, and down at Pimmy. He looks back at Cas who hasn’t moved an inch, and he sighs. “Since the fire.”

Cas breathes out loudly, and Dean flinches, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I’m sorry, okay?” he says. “I swear, we can just pretend this never happened. We can go right back to being friends, and—”

“Dean, we’ve never been ‘just friends.’”

There’s a ferocious determination in Cas’s gaze now, undermined somewhat by his frankly adorable use of air quotes. Dean’s not sure what to do with this information though, so he just keeps staring until Cas speaks again.

“I asked you how long,” Cas says, and he takes a small step towards Dean, his voice softening. “Now ask me.”

“What?”

“Ask me how long I’ve loved you.”

“Cas, I—”

“Since high school,” Cas interrupts, and narrows the gap between them with another step. “I’ve loved you since third period home ec when I burnt the eggs and nearly failed and you told me cereal was better anyway.”

“Oh,” is all Dean can manage for a long moment.

There are a million things he wants to say. A million little explosions happening in his brain, and he’s having trouble processing. Having trouble believing that any of this is real right now. Any moment, Cas is going to laugh and the whole thing will have been a joke.

Dean’s own voice sounds small and scared when he manages to speak again— manages to isolate the one part in all of this that he’s been able to process. “All this time… why didn’t you say something, Cas?”

“I didn’t want to freak you out.”

“You didn’t want to—that’s—that’s so stupid. I would never. I—”

“You’re freaking out now,” Cas points out calmly.

“I am not!” Dean snaps. He closes his eyes briefly and takes a deep breath. “I’m not,” he tries again, quieter.

Cas frowns slightly and takes a final step into Dean’s space.

“I love you, Dean. I’ve loved you for a long time. I’m going to continue loving you in whatever way you’ll have me, for as long as you’ll let me. I would be both humbled and honored if you choose to give this thing between us a try. But if you don’t— if you truly want to remain as ‘just friends,’ then that’s fine too. Honestly.”

Cas reaches out as if to touch Dean’s face, and his hand hangs unsure of itself in midair until Dean leans into it. He lets his eyes flicker shut once more as Cas strokes a thumb gently over his cheek.

“I know exactly what you’re thinking, Dean, but allow me to assure you that nothing’s going to change. Not for the worse, anyway. If it doesn’t work out, well… frankly I don’t see that happening because it’s _us_. It’s _you_.”

Dean opens his eyes to see Cas’s nervous smile.

“But if it does,” Cas whispers, “know that there’s nothing you could ever do or say that would make me stop loving you, or that would make me want to stop being your friend.”

Dean sways slightly on the spot, his face still cradled in Cas’s hands. He’s on a precipice, with a world of fear and anxiety and uncertainty before him. A world with no certainties, no guarantees, and everything to lose. He could back away from the edge. Step aside, laugh it off, and go back to the safety and surety of before.

“Dean?” Cas asks. There’s nothing forceful in it, just gentle concern. “I’m right here with you, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean nods. And steps off the ledge.

\-----

They go on their first real date later that night. Dean’s fidgety and nervous, and changes his outfit a dozen times. He plans to take Cas to the fancy-ass restaurant downtown that serves caviar and escargot, until Cas reminds him that neither of them like those foods and pleads with Dean to go to the Roadhouse for burgers instead.

Dean’s more than happy to comply.

It’s not too different from every other night they’ve spent at the Roadhouse. Dean wavers for a moment at the table, and awkwardly pulls Cas’s chair out for him. But they order the same thing as always, and Cas steals his pickles as always. Though the way their knees knock together under the table is perhaps more deliberate and heated than before.

Dean worries all the way home, and jumps when Cas puts a tentative hand on his knee. He should really stop worrying, because the evening ends up unfolding like most other evenings with Cas. They find themselves on Dean’s couch watching Doctor Sexy reruns. This time though, when Dean stares at Cas’s hand in the space between them, Cas smiles and turns it palm up to him in invitation. Dean takes it, squeezes, and can’t for the life of him stop smiling.

They drift closer as the night wears on, until they’re snuggled together in the middle of the couch. Doctor Sexy fades into the background as Dean explores the contours of Cas’s mouth with his own.

He worries about what will come next. But it’s surprisingly natural— inevitable even, when Cas abandons the couch and returns to Dean’s bed. They forgo their separate sides of the mattress, and meet instead in the middle.

Much later, Dean finds himself tucked under Cas’s arm as long fingers card softly through his hair. With his cheek pressed to Cas’s side, he listens to the steady thump of Cas’ heartbeat, watches the rise and fall of his chest, and allows the soft sound of his breathing to lull him to sleep.

And for the first time in weeks, Dean’s dreams are pleasant.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [pherryt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pherryt/pseuds/pherryt), and [Good_Evening](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Good_Evening) for your invaluable help as beta readers, and to [robotsnchicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotsnchicks/pseuds/robotsnchicks) for going above and beyond as always.


End file.
